


Retrouvaille

by Crimsun



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Artist Donghyuck, M/M, Photographer Mark, Possible incorrect facts about places, Purple prose like language, travelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-30 19:59:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12116139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimsun/pseuds/Crimsun
Summary: The universe made sure they met over and over again.That AU where Mark and Donghyuck meet in high school and later all over the world until the red-haired boy finally stopped running.





	Retrouvaille

**Author's Note:**

> Markhyuck love each other and they are idiots.
> 
> Prepare for disaster.
> 
> Peace. I love you all.
> 
> PS: Thank you, Lyo.
> 
> PPS: Hyuck's name is rarely mentioned. The italic he and his and him are used to refer to Hyuck.  
> 

 

Sometimes when _he_ looked at you, you swore you could see the yellows and the oranges and the siennas blend together so beautifully like in the palette of an amateur painter who was experiencing the feel of his brush against the porcelain plane for the first time. The other times _he_ calmed your blues with _his_ and then _he_ looked at you like you actually meant something and you never could find the strength in you to look away. Not that you ever considered it.

Some days, _he_ was grey and you felt unsettled and you worried about _his_ unsaid worries, because _he_ was always spouting existential bullshit that you always heard but never understood; maybe because that was what you wanted _him_ to be, an enigma whose words meant anything and everything, whose high and slightly nasally voice could put you to sleep even if you were a raging insomniac. 

You met _him_ once in a while and _he_ always, _always_ seemed so untouchable; so out of reach. When _he_ held your hand or put an arm around your shoulder your heartbeat sped and then when you looked into _his_ eyes, _he_ always had that knowing smile as if _he_ knew of the kind of magic you saw in _his_ sparkling brown eyes. 

When _he_ left, you felt empty. The sort of emptiness that left behind a hollow in the shape of a sometimes brown, but mostly red-haired boy with sun-kissed skin that reminded you of gold hidden deep in the legendary city of El Dorado.

“Until next time, Mark Lee.” 

 _He_ said. 

Not once. 

Not twice. 

But many times. 

So many times that Mark had lost count. Mark was sceptical but the other boy always kept _his_ promises. Even if _he_ never stayed, _he_ always _always_ kept _his_ promises.

Sometimes the five letters that made Mark want to exist until the next time were whispered against his ear as the other hugged him or yelled at him as _he_ ran away cackling or scribbled in unruly handwriting that was just _so him_ in a note in whatever motel in whatever country they met in and decided to stay at. _He_ never declared an end to that tradition. 

The first time Mark saw _him, his_ hair was black and _he_ was fourteen. Mark was a fumbling teenager and _he_ was the class clown but a crowd favourite, and Mark found himself staring at _him_ as the other ran down the hallway of the school with a boy whose eye smile could rival anyone in K-dramas. _He_ was giggling and laughing as _his_ feet took _him_ down the crowded path, leaving behind a bunch of people who simply shook their heads at the goofball. 

“DONGHYUCK!! GIVE ME BACK MY JOURNAL, YOU MORON!!” 

The eye-smile boy had yelled, his voice in that awkward phase where it was too light but not too high. 

“NEVER!!”

He sometimes laughed at nights as he thought of the first word he ever heard the other boy say. 

Denial. A simple word of denial. 

Rejection, it conveyed. 

The contradiction always seemed funny to him because if anyone was the epitome of acceptance, it was _him_. 

It was Mark’s first day as a sophomore and he wondered why the other whom he was sure was a freshman ran down the hallway without a care in the world when he himself had been an awkward boy(still was) who was scared out of his mind as he faced the intimidating home of education. Even as a sophomore, he remembers feeling the pressure of the future crushing his bony shoulders but he also remembers looking at the boy till _he_ was just a spot of fiery red and bright blue and pale grey in the distance. He remembers smiling. He remembers sitting down in his Chemistry class with his heart feeling slightly freer and even when the girl next to him kept flicking her long hair to the side, he was busy thinking about copper sulphate formation and the cobalt blue hoodie of a certain someone whose high voice echoed in his chemistry-addled brain. 

Mark saw _him_ many times during his high school years. It was after the third time Mark saw _him_ that _he_ saw Mark. _He_  smiled at Mark and giggled at how Mark tripped on thin air at the action even as _he_ kept listening to _his_ eye-smile friend. Mark had dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his hoodie as he struggled to smile back at the boy who was still smiling at him. 

Mark now knows that _he_ still smiled at him like that. 

He also knows that _he_ will always smile at him like that. Like Mark was serendipity to _him_.

Like Mark meant more than what _he_ could ever say. Little did _he_ know that Mark felt the same way about _him._  

The next time they met, _he_ had sat down next to Mark at their school’s soccer match and he is still embarrassed at the number of times he was caught staring at the other boy. The eye-smile guy had glared at him the first time he caught him but then _he_ had started ranting about the game after _he_ introduced himself. Mark learnt that eye smile guy was Jeno and that he and the golden-skinned boy, Donghyuck had been best friends since they were eleven. When Mark said his name, _he_ had smiled as _he_ uttered it under _his_ breath, the small sound immediately succeeding in making Mark’s chest warm. If someone asked Mark of the game now, he would say that he didn’t remember anything because he genuinely didn’t. He was busy watching someone else that day and _boy_ was he glad. His prized camera had taken photo after photo even as the boy’s cheeks blazed red under the attention. Mark hadn’t known where the courage to take someone’s picture without asking them had come from. He even wondered if it was creepy but every time he put down the camera for more than a few minutes, _he_ eyed the camera as if saying _“Go ahead.”_  

“Until next time, Mark Lee.”

 _He_ had whispered as _he_ looked back, _his_ hands linked with Jeno’s. Mark hadn’t known that that was the beginning of a series of many. He remembers replaying the way _his_ tongue rolled as _he_ said his name, the small catch in _his_ breath when _he_ said his name out for the first time making his heart pump blood faster. He had known then that his name would never sound the same, that no one could ever say it quite like the boy does.

They weren’t friends.

Mark was a loner in high school and he watched from a distance as _his_ friend circle grew but something told him that the other boy was not as close to anyone like _he_ was to Jeno. When Mark struggled to make it through the day, trying his best to stay away from the ever-present bullies who seemed to never focus on him(he didn’t want to risk it anyway), _he_ always looked like he was having the time of his life. _He_ , however, always sought out Mark from the crowd even as he hunched his shoulders and pulled the hood over his head and _he_ always waved, a knowing smile on _his_ face. Mark would be lying if he said that it didn’t make him feel validated. _He_ kept _his_ distance though, but Mark always saw _him_ around and he liked to think that it wasn’t just coincidence that they always seemed to be in each other’s vicinity. 

After about four months or so of waving and secretive smiles coupled with furtive glances, _he_ pulled _his_ friends and relocated to the table opposite the one Mark sat at during lunch hour. It put him under the constant watchful gaze of the effervescent boy and some days, even if Mark wanted to cower into a corner, _he_ made him want to not do that. They met many, _many_ times and it always shocked Mark how _he_ was always able to figure out when he needed time away and when he needed a smile directed his way. They texted randomly. When they saw each other, not much conversation happened. When _he_ was alone during lunch hours, _he_ sat down opposite him and ate _his_ lunch. Some days, Jeno too gave him company. When the rest of the gang was there, the duo sat at their table but made sure to acknowledge Mark.

Sometimes, the photographer in him took candid pictures of the other which always found their way to that folder on his computer where he stored his favourite pictures. It’s safe to say that soon the folder got overloaded with _his_ photos than any other’s. It was hard for him to stop appreciating beauty when he saw _him_ every day. 

A year passed without being too eventful and somewhere along, Mark had created a special folder for _his_ photos alone. _He_ never talked too much and he never prodded. Instead, _he_ simply chose to give Mark company and some days he wondered if they could be called friends. They never met up outside the high school and they never asked each other’s addresses and they never met each other’s parents. So when the doubt crept in next time, he asked _him_. 

“Are we friends?” 

 _He_ had smiled in response before placing _his_ pen down on the table. 

“You tell me, Mark Lee.”

Mark had fidgeted for a few seconds before he nodded and said that they were.

“Were you worried I would say no even after I follow you around everywhere trying not to be Mr. Captain Obvious?” 

Mark had only stared at the other with wide eyes then.

“It’s just that you never introduced me to your friends and uh... we don’t really hang out after school or anything... I just.. I just wanted to confirm..” 

 _His_ expression had remained fond and Mark had stirred under the weight of the honesty and innocence in it. The mischief that tinted it didn’t go unnoticed. 

“We are friends. I didn’t introduce you because I didn’t think you wanted me to. Jeno teases me a lot saying that I treat you like you are my secret.” _He_ had leaned in then, whispering the next words as if the world wasn’t worthy to hear it. “He is right, though. You are my little secret. Aren’t I yours?” 

Mark had nodded with conviction and he never asked again. _His_ friends kept changing and he understood that knowing the ones who flickered by wasn’t as relevant and was glad that he didn’t have to deal with the awkward smiles and looks that were bound to be exchanged after you broke away from a group. 

The first time _he_ pulled Mark somewhere was during his junior year. Mark had been walking out of his boring Physics class when a tan hand and a familiar boy awaited him and his wrist. He followed the younger boy without any protests and _he_ had led him to the rooftop. There was the slight hint of smoke in the air and he assumed that someone had been smoking before their arrival. He had closed the door carefully behind seeing that the younger boy wasn’t going to do it. It was when the other boy released his wrist that he realized that the other was all tense and _his_ usual energetic aura was darkened by a cloud of sadness. 

“Donghyuck, is something wrong?” 

He was met with not a verbal response but a feeling of arms wrapping around him and a face that tried to burrow into the hollow cavity of his chest. Mark had somehow led them to the wall, the boy still hugging him and coaxed the other to sit down, _his_ arms still around him. After a few minutes, the sobs died out and Mark was grateful as the pang in his chest lulled.

“Eunwoo said that I was fake and that I should go die. I am not fake though, hyung. Do you think I am fake, hyung?”

Mark tightened his grip around the younger. 

“No! You aren’t fake. You’re just slightly brighter than everyone. They’re just jealous. Tell me if anything like this happens again.”

The other boy had smiled against the thin material of Mark’s plaid shirt and t-shirt ensemble and he had held the other close even as they heard the bell ring loudly.

Even though he enjoyed the fact that _he_ looked for him when _he_ was sad, he also noticed that the other boy rarely was visibly sad. He was grateful that the other didn’t get hurt easily. Sometimes, even the smallest insult brought _him_ in tears seeking Mark’s warmth and comfort while the other times, the biggest insults were laughed off in _his_ conversations with Jeno. _He_ was unpredictable and Mark knew that _he_ would be so forever. After all, storms crafted with hair the shade of hickory and eyes capable of intensely staring at you for an eternity and rattled the existence of people never were predictable.

They continued their correspondence. The frequency of their meetings fluctuated but in a way, they always kept in touch. They met at the library, the bleachers, the rooftop, the alley behind the school and just about anywhere in the school. Words were a rarity in those meetings(except for the five words _he_ never forgot to say) and they never felt the need to prod each other, nor talk about pointless teenager stuff. In their world of two, they felt neither the need to worry about the future nor wallow in the past. The present. Here. Now. With each other. It was all that mattered.

Even after three years and Mark’s graduation with flying colours and valedictorian status, they didn’t know each other’s favourite colour or their favourite book or what their ultimate aims were. Mark often pondered about the absurdity of it all.

How do you know a person for three years and yet not know them at all? They had each other but they didn’t really. Was it the presence that they craved? It definitely wasn’t the conversations since they were few and far in between. Was it the smiles? Was it the glances? Was it the warmth that bloomed in their chests at the same temperature as it did the first time?

“We’re different. I feel different when I’m with you. I like different. But I wanna run away. I will one day. When I come back, I’ll tell you everything. I promise we’ll see each other again. I’ll keep in touch. Until next time, Mark Lee.” 

 _He_ had said, even with tears streaming down _his_ face with a voice full of conviction on Mark’s graduation day. His gown’s collar was drenched with _his_ tears and that day, he went home, his own tears flowing down as soon as he closed his room’s door.

That day, sceptical Mark Lee told a heartbroken Mark Lee that _he_ might never keep that promise; that he will never meet _him_ again; that once he went to Seoul Lee Donghyuck would become a memory with nothing but fragments of what made _him_ up because at the end of the day, they didn’t know each other that well. All they had was that special connection where words weren’t necessary.

Was it stupid of him to think that _he_ would be right here beside him forever just because of some stupid connection they felt?

 _Maybe it was._  

After all, he had always known that _he_ was the sun, bright and too hot to be touched. Staying near _him_ would have burned Mark out but he had hoped that he would get to see _his_ face even if from a distance. Hell, he hadn’t cared that he would be the one taking the brunt of their friendship.

However, some part of him told him that _he_ would find him again and so, he waited. _He_ had _his_ days where _he_ was the moon and needed light from someone else. Mark badly wanted to be that person for _him_. 

During his first year at uni, Mark tried his best to blend in with the people there and he had succeeded to an extent too. He was a photography major and his roommate was a dance major. His name was Lee Chan and when Mark entered his room for the first time, the other boy had Michael Jackson’s Dangerous blasting from his Bluetooth speaker and he was hip thrusting and moonwalking on the beat. Mark hadn’t been able to help the snort that escaped his mouth. Memories of a certain boy with hair the same shade as blood who hummed way too many songs of the King of Pop had flooded his mind but he had shoved them back down, keeping the key in the hole _he_ left behind. 

Even if he fell asleep that night with the echoes of a particular voice singing Heal the world, he forced himself to calm down and focus on how Chan seemed like the perfect distraction for his brain which was way too obsessed with finding illusory correlations with a tan-skinned boy. 

He was right. 

Chan proved to be the perfect distraction indeed. His loud and noisy and extremely friendly hyungs who were their seniors always visited their shared room, adding to the distraction. The only quiet ones in the group were the ever brooding music production majors, Wonwoo and Jihoon, who were both contradictions in their appearances with the first boy the textbook description for tall, dark and handsome and the latter the epitome of small and cute. If he ever heard Mark call him that though, he was in for a lifetime of running across the world. The long-haired Jeonghan and the tallest, Mingyu never came without food which Mark appreciated a lot.

The fact that Mingyu was a photography major and was always willing to help him out with his doubts was a plus.

Soonyoung and Seungkwan were the noisiest. The 10:10 smile boy always found a way to make dance steps out of the most mundane things which made sense since he was a dance major. Seungkwan was a music major with a focus on vocal and damn, was he a singer. There were a couple of times that Mark tired himself out at night and walked to the café on campus where Seungkwan sometimes helped out. Those nights, he returned to the room with the bubbly singer who sang for him on request. He always dreamt of an untouchable red-haired illusion on those nights.

Then there was the Chinese dynamic duo, Jun and Minghao, both of them double majoring in dance and business; a combination of disastrous subjects that Mark never understood. Both were sarcastic as hell and it was always Seungkwan and Soonyoung who took the brunt of their well-aimed remarks and timed insults. Then there was Vernon whom Mark was sure had a crush on Seungkwan. He was the one who always talked to him in English even if both their accents were different. Their dynamic was different from what Mark was used to but Mark was grateful for everyone all the same. For a socially stunted person like him, he had way too many people who were there for him and whenever his parents called, they talked to the others more than him.

Some part of Mark wished for a certain someone’s presence but he let the disappointment fade away in the clutter that the gang brought. 

Mark didn’t see _him_ for nearly two years. The cynical part of him told him repeatedly that they hadn’t been close for him to hope for anything but his heart told him to wait a little more; that _he_ was out there and that _he_ would find _his_ way back to him. 

When he saw _him_ next, _he_ was standing on top of the bench in the park, a tiny four or five-year-old girl reaching with a giggle for the red balloon that hung from _his_ hand. _He_ was smiling as bright as ever and Mark’s chest had panged. His breath sped up and he told Chan that they should go to the dorms; that he had some business to attend to. Chan had turned to him with an incredulous expression; a simple “What?” conveyed with precision even as the gang strutted forward with gusto. 

“Remember the boy I told you about. That’s him.” 

Chan had looked at _him_ with his eyes blown wide before understanding dawned on him.

“Go get him, tiger.” 

Mark had snorted before nodding, his gaze fixated on the boy and the girl. The girl’s mother smiled at the now brown-haired boy and bent down to pick her up, the balloon’s strings clenched in her tiny fists. _He_ leant in and kissed her cheek and her little squeaky giggle was audible to him even from a distance. Mark hesitated then. He wondered whether the other boy wanted to see him or not. When he proceeded to turn around, eyes tearing up on their own, a voice called out to him. 

“Mark? MARK LEE!!” 

He had turned back around like he got whiplash. There was the sound of sneakers hitting the grass before a familiar and warm body melded against his. He would never admit but he had gone ahead and inhaled _his_ unique and heady scent of petrichor and lilies. There had been some tears on both sides but Mark learned that day that the other boy had come to his uni in search of him but could never figure out his major and went back disappointed. 

The brown-haired boy was an art major and some part of Mark whispered about how _perfectly_ it suited _him_. But he also learnt that _he_ wasn’t ready to stay permanently, but Mark had seen that coming and he simply smiled at the other boy, listening to the other rant about his uni. Jeno had followed _him_ to SOPA too and Mark was glad. He was jealous too but the relief that spread all over when he knew that someone was there for _him_ in a strange place calmed his nerves down greatly. Maybe he wanted to be the one doing it. But he didn’t have a choice.

“Until next time, Mark Lee.” 

 _He_ had mouthed out as _he_ exited the café, looking at Mark through the transparent glass, _his_ coffee half finished in _his_ grip and _his_ cheeks red from the cold. Mark had simply let his lips curve up into a smile from the other side, the glass that separated them reminding him of the things he still didn’t know about the other. 

It was past midnight when he went to the dorms that Saturday and when he found Chan sleeping, he had closed the door, standing lost outside his room as his heart felt like it was clawed open by a wild animal. He walked up the flight of stairs and knocked on the door of the only other photography major he knew. He fell asleep that night cuddled between two tall men, one a deep-voiced grump and the other, a blue-haired aspiring photographer who ran his fingers through his hair whispering out reassurances as he mourned _his_ presence, telling himself not to cry before losing it as Wonwoo said, _”Let it out, Mark, we’re here.”_

He saw _him_ a couple of times after that, and Mark made sure that he never approached when he did. But _he_ always found him and sometimes, it was _he_ who saw him first. He always, _always_ approached but the minutes spent between them varied. 

Sometimes, they met each other’s gazes when one was high up in the sky on a rollercoaster while the other waited on the ground for the other to come down.

You can guess who was who.

But then, _he_ walked to him, jelly-legged and hair wind tousled even as _his_ new friends stared at _him_ asking where _he_ was going. _He_ then collapsed against Mark’s chest, _his_ lips touching the shell of Mark’s ears, whispering out the five words _he_ always did before walking away with _his_ group of friends. They once met on the subway on their way back home during a break and Mark cherished their proximity and when _he_ stepped out of the train, _he_ had kissed Mark on the cheek. 

They met a few times, each time as relevant as Death meeting with Liesel Meminger in Zusak’s Book Thief. Each time as life-changing. Each time revealing something they didn’t know about each other. 

Sometimes he was fortunate enough to have his prized camera hanging from his neck and he would snap it up the moment he saw _him_ , often catching the other smiling even if _his_ eyes tended to be duller sometimes but _he_ had been like that as long as Mark had known _him_. 

Some days _he_ was the brightest sun in the universe and some days _he_ was like the moon, searching for someone to light _him_ up but _he_ always glowed; sometimes blindingly, other times subtly. _He_ was never cold though, even when _he_ was grey _he_ was never cold to touch or to see.

Mark clung to the warmth _he_ brought; to the rush that even _his_ memories could bring him. He loved the way his blood reacted to _him_.

Mark knew the implications of that. He had always known. 

As the years passed, Chan’s hyung count dwindled but they made sure to drop in randomly and call the maknaes to check on them. Wonwoo’s and Mingyu’s calls often left him feeling warm as they always talked to him in calm tones and told him to not worry too much about the one that kept getting away. Seungkwan called him and on some days, he even sent him voice recordings of the songs Mark recommended in their group chat. He missed them but it was like they were never gone and he had Chan anyway.

On his graduation, he was handed a bouquet with a variety of flowers held together by a pale blue satin ribbon. He had missed _him_ at the graduation and he had wished for the other boy to know that his final project was a photo of _him_ standing with a royal blue balloon in his right hand as _he_ smiled at the white flowers of the dogwood tree, neck beautifully tan and jawline crystal clear, a yellow umbrella framing _his_ head even if there was no rain, _his_ brown hair standing out against the lemony shade. _He_ had worn a red t-shirt that day, a navy blue shirt on top of it, _his_ sneakers white and _his_ black jeans clinging on to _his_ long legs.

His professor had asked him what the topic of his project was and he had smiled before putting the photo in front of him.

“Colours.” 

He had answered, the professor’s mouth gaping open at the picture, words of praise droning on about the composition and the lighting and how everything came together at the right time in the perfect frame. 

“Who is it? This boy.” He had asked.

“Someone who loves colours and paints others with it.” He had said, the woman incapable of looking away from the photo as she nodded, seemingly satisfied with the response. 

His mom had been hugging him telling him how proud of him she was for following his passion when his dad pointed at a girl who walked to him with a bouquet stuffed with flowers.

“Mark Lee?” She had asked, her voice tiny and hurried.

He had nodded.

“A boy with red hair just gave this and ran away. 

Mark had thanked her for being the messenger and handed over the bouquet to his dad before rushing outside the auditorium to the front of the college in time to see Jeno’s black sedan pull away, the passenger door slamming shut, a shock of red hair flashing for a second. He had waved anyway, knowing that _he_ would see it. When he began the defeated trek back to his parents, the only thought in his head was about how _he_ didn’t say the five words this time. He had felt petrified as that fact dawned on him.

He had been in the car as his parents talked about how great he did and how proud they were. He dodged the questions about the red-haired boy and they knew him well enough to know that he didn’t want to talk about it. His fingers touched the multicoloured bouquet and his phone rang with his dancer friend's name. Chan apologized to him for leaving before meeting his parents since he had a welcome party at his home back in Gyeongju. Mark had told him that it was fine and just as the call disconnected he had felt the urge to google what the flowers meant and so had because he was sure that _he_ was trying to tell him something. 

After all, _he_ never did anything just like that. 

Brilliant yellow tulips for cheerful thoughts. White violets for innocence. Clovers asking him to think of _him_. Light pink roses for happiness. Deep red carnations for admiration. Chamomile for patience. Lavender for devotion. Blue salvias telling him that _he_ thought of him. White tulips for forgiveness. Sunflowers for good luck. A single red rose for the words they never told each other. Hidden behind the sunflower was a small note in a familiar handwriting. 

 _Congratulations! Until next time, Mark Lee._  

He had smiled the entire drive back home and then some. 

A week later, one of the photography firms he had applied called him for an interview at Daegu. The firm was based in Seoul but the man who owned it was the head of the Daegu office as he juggled responsibilities with his American friend who currently headed the Seoul branch. Mark had been a nervous mess knowing very well that 127 Frames didn’t just hire anyone. He had walked into the office expecting a hundred potential candidates for the post but was shocked to see that there were only two men who sat outside the office and none of them were there for the interview too since they had their name tags hanging from their necks declaring them as employees. 

“Mark Lee?” 

The man had asked before Mark could ask the receptionist where the interview was. He had nodded. 

“You’re early. Hyung is inside. Just go in. He is expecting you.” 

The man said, Korean slightly strange on his tongue. Mark bowed to the jet black-haired man as he sat down with a nod. He knocked on the dark ebony door with the shining nameplate that had the name everyone knew all too well carved on it. 

“Come in.” 

A deep voice uttered. 

Mark pushed the door to come face to face with a pink-haired man who looked like he jumped from a manga to real life through some portal. He looked too unreal but a tiny part of him scolded him saying he wasn’t as pretty as _him_. _Obviously not_ , he chided himself. 

“Good morning, uh..Mr.Lee. I’m Lee Minhyung. It’s nice to meet you.”

 He said, voice strangely stable.

“Good morning. No need to be so formal. Have a seat.” 

Mark hesitated but the other man sat on his black leather chair and arched a perfectly black eyebrow at him as if daring him to say no. 

“So, I saw your portfolio and I loved every single shot on it. You’re very talented, Mark. I hope you don’t mind if I call you that.”

Mark shifted in his seat at the praise.

“Thank you, Mr.Lee. My friends call me Mark anyway. It’s fine.” 

The pink-haired man looked through his phone before he put it down with a smile. 

“Call me hyung, Mark. At 127 Frames, we’re family. This is not a corporate institution and I don’t believe in pressuring the people who work for me. There’s a reason why our clients are pleased with us. I hope you understand what I’m hinting at..” 

The other man trailed off, Mark’s mouth drying at the implication. 

“You..I’m...I got the job?” 

The pink-haired man smiled as he nodded. 

“Wow! Thank you, Mr..I mean hyung.” He breathed out. “But why? I mean not to sound ungrateful or anything but..” 

The head of 127 Frames snorted as he leaned back in his chair.

“Your pictures are great. I just wanted to see if you had the personality to back up the talent because I am not willing to work with assholes and it’s unfortunate that not many good photographers are humble. You clearly have the humility I need in here. You’ll work harder because you don’t believe that you have perfected your art even if it is some of the best shots I’ve ever seen. I need someone like that. Someone who’ll work harder because no one is a perfect photographer.”

Mark had been flattered as Taeyong rambled on about the reasons why he wanted Mark there. What told him that 127 Frames was about to become his home was the question the pink-haired man asked just as he was about to be led to his office by the man from before, Yuta, Taeyong told him. 

“He’s special, isn’t he? The boy with the yellow umbrella. The same one you focused on during the traffic shot.”

Mark had nodded, shock written on his face, a “How?” breathed out. 

“I used to take photos like that too of Jaehyun. I still do.” 

Mark in his haze hadn’t asked him who it was but Yuta had answered for him anyway as he led him to his cubicle next to an opened window.

“Jaehyun is his husband, Mark. You get what he meant now?” 

Yuta and a bunny faced man who sat behind Mark had snorted loudly at Mark’s surprised countenance. 

The job at 127 Frames was rewarding both financially and mentally. Their clients were high end most of the time but were not pompous and rude assholes but later Taeyong told him that the rude ones were handled by Yuta and Doyoung who weren’t scared to ask the client to stop being assholes. 

Mark liked the honesty that his new workplace demanded. He lived along with Doyoung and Yuta at the three bedroom apartment that the company provided. Taeyong lived just a door away with his husband Jaehyun, the couple always reminding Mark of what he wished to have one day. Jaehyun was a vocal trainer at an entertainment company down the street and often brought food for the four-man gang. Mark later learnt that the Seoul branch was the more formal of the two and Taeyong switched with Johnny who was the present head of the branch.

Mark was happy and he genuinely enjoyed working with the other guys. The rapport they had was unique and Mark was praised for all the right things and given advice by the others while having the permission to give suggestions in the photos they took. He loved how no one judged each other based on anything.

After a short duration of six months which quickly sped past, Taeyong convened a meeting and informed them about his plans to close the Daegu branch. Mark’s heart had dropped to his stomach and he saw the same terror he felt in the eyes of Doyoung and Yuta too. Taeyong, however, chuckled and told them that the Daegu branch was simply a test run which he was sure wouldn’t work out that well and that it was simply for giving him more time with his husband. So, the executive decision had been taken as to their intention to move to Seoul. The meeting was simply to confirm whether everyone was on board the ship.

Doyoung had been particularly overjoyed telling them that he owned an apartment next to the Seoul branch which pretty much translated into _“HELL YEAH!”_  

The move took around two months since they had schedules they needed to complete and when Yuta blasted some Dean track at full volume on their drive to Seoul, Mark wondered if it was a sign that he would get to meet _him_ again.

Months passed and Mark was disappointed at how SOPA was a bit too far away from the studio for them to coincidentally meet again. The move didn’t change their lives much except for the arrival of Johnny Seo in Mark’s life. The others knew the man well and when Mark’s extended hand was met with a tight hug and a dimpled smile, he had known that Johnny Seo was here to stay like the others.

A few weeks later, Taeyong told him that Johnny had talked to him about needing a new photographer with a new perspective for the Seoul branch’s foreign projects. He had looked at him meaningfully and Mark had known that he meant him. Johnny was overjoyed at Mark’s acceptance of the offer. Jaehyun, Doyoung and Yuta were both excited and depressed at the news of his and Johnny’s being away for months on end. 

Fast forward approximately two more months of the hyungs pampering him with way too much food and hugging him for too long and spending nights staring at a certain someone’s photos as he wondered whether this was the end followed. Johnny was a pillar of strength by his side and assured him that he could run back anytime and that Yuta could take over for him. But Mark wasn’t about to let his career and himself shy away from new opportunities because he kept clinging to the memory of someone who always looked like Aphrodite’s son through the lens of his beloved Nikon D810 or his Canon EOS-1Dx Mark II or his iPhone 4s’s shitty camera or the Polaroid camera which he always kept with him.

He knew that no one would ever look _that_ beautiful. They could try but they would never be able to top that. 

Their first destination was Paris and it was back to back photo shoots with the huge brands in the hustle of the fashion capital. Mark had backup but the brands provided them with assistants anyway, since Johnny and he had split up to cover more ground. They had clearly underestimated the number of projects that awaited them in Paris. The firm that 127 Frames were signed with for foreign projects made sure that their work got the exposure they deserved. That, along with the talent and quality they promised meant that Mark and Johnny were busy that entire month taking pictures even in their sleep. At some point, the intimidation at seeing brand tags like Gucci and Armani had worn off and they happily collaborated with other photographers to create the best catalogues they possibly could. 

The longing in his chest every time he picked up the fusion of polycarbonate, plastic and optical glass hummed loud in denial of the subject. Mark carried on, acting like he never heard his heart whisper out a name. 

When Chan or Mingyu or any of his uni gang called, they asked about the boy they had never met but only knew from Mark’s description. He always told them that he hadn’t seen _him_ since the small glimpse he caught of _him_ at his graduation. 

Days passed. He and Johnny had completed their last shoot in Paris and were supposed to return to Seoul two days later. They had been trying out croissants from a local shop and Mark’s gaze had landed on a familiar boy who walked past the café with _his_ earphones plugged into _his_ ears and a smile on _his_ face as _he_ looked up at the sky. Johnny had been alarmed at the way he choked on the flaky pastry. 

“Mark? What’s wrong?” 

Mark had downed the hot coffee down his throat in an attempt to not choke anymore while at the same time telling himself he was daydreaming but even as he put down the cup, the boy was still outside, strolling leisurely at a relaxed pace. 

“Hyung, I.. That’s him... That’s Donghyuck... Should I..”

It took a second for the realization to occur in the head of the photographer with the side-swept hair.

“What are you waiting for? GO! Call me if you’re coming back to the hotel.” 

The elder man had said with a wiggle of his eyebrows while simultaneously pushing Mark to go out the door. 

Mark’s heart was beating too fast as he reached out with a hand to _him_ before retracting it, hesitating like always but it was too late. The other boy had turned around, _his_ hair still red, but fading slightly and _his_ smile, the brightest he had ever seen.

“Why are you such an idiot, Mark Lee?” 

 _He_ had asked before linking _his_ hands with the photographer, prompting him to pick up speed as they ran through the crowded streets of Paris. The sun was setting and the clouds looked like the shades in the paint collection of an artist; tangerines and saffrons blending with the rare areas which were mauve and diluting into the dim yellow and sienna to announce the arrival of dusk. They stopped in front of a hotel, not another word exchanged as _he_ pulled him up the stairs to the room on the second floor, pushing the window open with the forced push of _his_ spread out hands. 

The mixed shades of light rays streamed in and _he_ smiled at Mark proudly as if _he_ owned it. 

Finders keepers, right? 

 _He_ found it; it was only fair that _he_ got to keep it, Mark decided.

The mostly orange light framed _his_ fading garnet hair and Mark put out a finger asking _him_ to stay put and _he_ did, the corners of _his_ mouth still quirked up and eyes still shining bright, small beads of sweat on _his_ forehead, some flowing down the side of _his_ head and _his_ chest heaving slightly. Mark had pulled out his camera and clicked for a good few minutes before the other boy gripped his hands gently and lowered the camera, before walking him to the bed, one hand entwined with his and the other cradling his camera like _he_ knew what it meant to him. 

 _He_ sat cross-legged opposite Mark and carefully put the camera on the bedside table before facing the photographer, a fond look on _his_ face. _He_ put _his_ hands on Mark’s cheeks and wiped away the tears that even he didn’t know were streaming down his face. _He_ then put Mark’s hands on _his_ waist and leaned against his chest letting him decide whether or not to pull away but Mark would _never_. Not when he knew the unpredictability of the red-haired boy, so he pulled _him_ close and breathed in _his_ scent, waiting for the other to pull away first because he swore he could hold _him_ forever if he was allowed to. 

When _he_ did, the absence of _his_ warmth made him want to burst into tears all over again. But _he_ simply pulled him up, a smile on _his_ face. 

“When did you turn into such a crybaby, hyung?” 

 _He_ asked, hand on _his_ hip when Mark whined and pouted in response catching onto the happiness on the younger’s face. 

 _“Since a certain someone decided to leave me behind all the time.”_ He wanted to say but he didn’t. 

“Since you coloured your hair red again.” He had replied, the other snorting at the absurdity of the answer.

“Wanna sightsee with me?” _He_ had asked, the light in the room from the sunset almost completely faded away. 

Mark being Mark had nodded his head, ready to(Excuse the cheesiness) walk to the edge of the Earth or take a dip in the ocean’s deepest trenches if it was with _him_. 

The City of Lights was drenched in just that when they walked out of the hotel with their hands intertwined. The city was swarmed with people who were either in a rush to get somewhere or people who had rushed into the city from somewhere for a few days off. They didn’t belong to the two categories but Paris had space for two more boys; both a little lost but connected with a unique link they never acknowledged. They ate at a local diner, using Google Translate to order what they wanted and making up with smiles for the mistakes. 

They talked that night, about each other and their lives. _He_ told Mark that _he_ planned on travelling everywhere and sell _his_ art. _He_ had been doing art commissions and Mark was pleased that the boy who always felt like colours to him was doing exactly what _he_ stood for. They bonded more over plates of chocolate banana crepes, coq au vin and a bunch of other dishes they didn’t bother even knowing the names of, than they did during their years at high school and Mark’s chest warmed with gaiety. 

That night they returned to Mark’s room at the hotel that their agency booked for them after he informed Johnny that he was coming back. When the other man didn’t respond he had assumed that the other had fallen asleep in his room. _He_ had lied down on the bed without hesitation even as Mark looked at _him_ incredulously.

“What? Are you shy?” 

 _He_ had asked and Mark nearly laughed at the question. He wondered how long the red-haired boy planned to stay with him. That night they slept off in the middle of a conversation where the other boy talked about happiness, _his_ soft voice lulling Mark to sleep. That night, Mark learnt that _his_ favourite colour was red. At some point during the night, Mark had been conscious enough to know that the other boy was the little spoon. He may have smiled against _his_ nape. He didn’t remember much.

What he did remember was the terror that seized his chest when he woke to an empty bed, horrified and utterly scared as he wondered if he had finally lost his mind. Reality had hit him as he laid his gaze on a small note on the bedside table under his camera.

He didn’t have to open it to know what it said but he did anyway, fingers running over the familiar words written in the familiar penmanship.

 _Until next time, Mark Lee._  

Johnny and Mark went anywhere and everywhere. The lenses of their cameras made from optical glass and the lenses of their eyes made from fibre and painstaking handicraft of the man upstairs, copied and reproduced beauty without hesitation, no matter the country. They returned home; to Seoul at the end of each job, their group welcoming them with their extraness. Somewhere along, their group of photographers and a vocal trainer had become like family and Mark made sure to gush about it whenever his uni gang called, often leading to a war in their group chat. 

Those conversations often left him thinking about his school days where studious and awkward Mark sat alone at a lunch table, thinking about anything and everything before a certain red-haired boy stormed _his_ way into his life. But there was no way to contact _him_ anymore since _his_ number had changed. Mark had tried calling multiple times when desperation took over his well-composed patience. The message that greeted him often left him hopeless and he had learned in the span of three years that it wasn’t that easy for them. His fingers had hovered over Jeno’s number one too many times but he never let himself take that step. 

Had they been friends? He was sure that _he_ and Jeno were still friends because of the number of times he saw _him_ listening to Jeno on speaker phone as the other boy yelled at _him_ for disappearing again. 

Every time he was scheduled to go to another country for another job, he kept wanting to call _his_ best friend and ask him where _he_ was. But Mark wasn’t too disappointed for too long. 

They met each other time and time again. 

The world was big and every time he met _him_ , Mark told himself that miracles did happen; that no matter how complicated and crazy and huge the world was, it was capable of making miracles happen. Humans tended to push that away as coincidences and patterns and accidents and he wondered if the world ached from the ignorance. He hoped it didn’t because no matter how much _his_ absence hurt him, _his_ presence made him feel alive like none other and only the world was responsible. He would rather have _him_ for short glimpses of time than not at all. He was jealous of the people who got to see _him_ every day, but he was also glad that he was the one who was special enough to be sought out by _him_. 

What they felt for each other didn’t have a reason; there was no logic that was strong enough to explain whatever they had and it was when that realization sunk in that he knew that it would last long.

After all, love without reason lasted the longest. 

He didn’t meet him everywhere he went but he met _him_ enough times for him to believe in luck and fortune. 

In the City that Never Sleeps, after a photo shoot making use of the Brooklyn bridge which flaunted its centurial history of being suspended by iron chains and cable, he saw _him_ looking down into the vehicles that drove by from the first level specifically designed for pedestrians. Mark had waved a hand at Johnny and proceeded to take a couple of photos of _him_ before he approached the red-haired boy. 

Seeing _him_ through the viewfinder was like finding the rainbow in all its seven-coloured glory after a stormy day. Mark had simply put both his hands on the railing next to _him_ and stood, turning his head to look at the boy at the same time _he_ did. The smile that _he_ gifted Mark with was one that he was used to seeing, reminding him so much of home even though it kept shifting. _He_ didn’t stay that long with Mark that day and when _he_ skipped towards the end of the bridge, a bounce in _his_ step, Mark had picked up his camera that hung from his neck and positioned it in front of his face. The boy had turned to him then and cupped _his_ hands around _his_ mouth and yelled out the words which kept Mark going for the next seven months he would spend without seeing _him_ even if Johnny and he kept travelling from one place to another, even revisiting Paris thrice. 

“Why don’t you let him go?” 

Taeyong had asked him once after he caught him staring at the picture of a certain boy whose evanescent presence brought him all that was missing in his life.

“Maybe I should.” 

He had answered, heart hurting the moment he voiced his thought aloud. Taeyong had stared at him in shock as if he couldn’t believe that the young photographer had said that. 

“But I can’t. There’s something about him that just won’t let me give it up, hyung.” 

That had been that. 

None of the hyungs asked again even as they saw the disappointment weigh Mark’s shoulders down each time he returned from a trip. They did, however, try to set him up with a cousin of Sicheng, a black-haired thin boy called Renjun whose smile had the power to light up anyone’s world. Just not Mark’s. He felt like he was cheating on _him_ even if all they were doing was having a civil conversation in a well-lit café. 

“You love someone else.” 

Renjun had said, still smiling. 

“I do. I’m sorry.” 

Mark had replied before the other pulled him into a hug whispering in his ears about how he hoped that _he_ found him soon. Mark didn’t correct his words by saying that he was the one searching for _him_.

Maybe Renjun called up the hyungs and talked or maybe his hyungs had a sudden enlightenment, anyway, the first date also became the last one ending an era at its inception itself. Mark couldn’t have been happier. 

Actually, he could be but details.

The next time he met _him_ inside a train in Switzerland with the whole crew including Johnny and their models to the assistants sitting in the same cabin. The odds of the universe were in their favour and _he_ had been the only other person in the cabin who was not a crew member along with a woman in her late thirties who glared at one of their androgynous models. _He_ had looked up from _his_ tablet where _his_ hands were creating a parallel world, for _his_ eyes to meet with Mark’s. That was one of the few times _he_ smiled brightly before tears rolled down _his_ cheeks, the tablet falling to the floor from _his_ grip. Mark had simply held his hands wide open and the red-haired boy had embraced him so tight that the photographer felt his heart clench from happiness. 

A part of him remembered all the times _he_ had teased him but he had let it go knowing that the other was genuinely hurting and deserved to be held and not teased. The world of pain Mark felt during the long gap between their meeting at the suspended bridge and then, had been forgotten as soon he laid his eyes on _him_. 

Johnny had stared knowingly from his seat and that day even with tears framing _his_ face, _he_ had met someone from Mark’s life. Mark was grateful that the other photographer simply gave _him_ tissues to wipe _his_ face and smiled warmly at _him_ , not bombarding _him_ with questions like he had expected him to. They had sat next to each other on the train, the scenery outside consisting of towering mountain ranges blanketed with alabaster snow and lakes with mist that hung from the clouds like frozen time, not moving even an inch discernible by the human eye. 

Mark had let the other boy hold on tight to him throughout the journey, _his_ pink lips parting as _he_ gathered _his_ energy to talk to the photographer about all that _he_ did during the time they didn’t see each other. 

 _He_ stayed with Mark and Johnny for a week that time, the longest _he_ had ever been with Mark since high school. Mark couldn’t help thinking about how seven days were more than enough to make up for all the hurt and loneliness from the seven months he went without _him_. _He_ accompanied them to the shoots and teased the crew, commented on the models and even helped their makeup artist draw small trinkets of Switzerland’s nature on the faces and necks of their models. _He_ proved during that week that _his_ energy was just as infectious as it was in high school as Mark noticed the way _his_ crew lit up every time their gaze landed on _him_. 

 _He_ left that time after letting Mark know that _his_ favourite book was Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children and the familiar five words mouthed against his neck before _he_ walked away, not looking back. But Mark left Switzerland with his long-haired camera companion’s memory card full of the pictures of them both carefully tucked into the innermost pocket of his messenger bag. 

The next time he met _him_ in the Land of the Rising Sun as he clicked pictures for the Japanese Tourism Department arranging several kimono-clad women near the well-preserved houses of the Nagano countryside. Johnny was the one who called _his_ name out and _he_ had broken into a smile as soon as _he_ laid _his_ eyes on Mark. _He_ stayed with them for a day and didn’t spend the night, leaving during dinner, before their dessert arrived, to God knows where. _He_ hadn’t said the words before _he_ left and Mark had damn well near hyperventilated. But Johnny had calmed him down saying _he_ might have forgotten, seeing as _he_ was in a rush but when their dessert arrived, the hurt had gone with the wind as a plate with the words he expected from a red-haired rainbow written carefully using chocolate sauce was kept next to his plate of mochi and daifuku.

Johnny had held him when he broke down at the sight of the white porcelain plate with the words that had become his lifeline of sorts.

He met _him_ on top of the Great Wall in the Land of the Red Dragon, China. 

He met _him_ again in the coastal town of Puerto Galera which bustled with tourists and natives situated in the Pearl of the Orient Seas, Philippines. 

He met _him_ once again as _he_ crossed a street in the Times Square situated in the City that Never Sleeps, New York. 

He met _him_ in India and he met _him_ in Indonesia. 

He met _him_ in Dublin and he met _him_ in Bern. 

He met _him_ in Los Angeles and he met _him_ in Salisbury. 

They met all over the world and they learned the things they never knew about each other.

Sometimes, the intervals lasted too long and sometimes too short but every time felt like one step closer to something they both wished with all their hearts to have.

Four years of meeting all over the world helped Mark’s folder specially designed for _him_ to fill with _his_ pictures. Even the ones Johnny clicked had a special place in his Macbook and Mark wanted nothing more than to meet _him_ again; to feel the magic that no one else could make him feel. 

Two months dragged by since their last meeting in Melbourne after a sports campaign shoot for Adidas with Yuta instead of Johnny. The Japanese man had taken an instant liking to the younger even if _he_ only stayed with them for a meagre two days. 

Mark closed Photoshop and stretched in his chair. It was nearing evening and Doyoung tapped him on his back mumbling about going home, declaring one more job well done. His phone rang and Mark’s head was immediately void of all thoughts regarding brightness and contrast and shadows and amount of blurs and other editing voodoo stuff. He rubbed at his eyes with his sweaty hands and looked again, the same name displayed on it causing him to immediately swipe the screen, accepting the call. 

“Hello… uh…yeah... It’s me… Uh… I can do that… Thank you for calling… I am really glad you did… Sure we can… Tomorrow?... I can do that… Yeah… It’s a Sunday… I’m free all day… Yeah…” 

The next day he found himself settling down opposite a platinum blonde-haired man to whom time was especially kind to; in a corner table of a restaurant he frequented with Johnny and Jaehyun for their English food cravings. His eye smile had stayed the same and Mark realized that he should have made the first call regardless of how much time they spent apart. He stood up and Mark avoided the hand extended to him in favour of hugging one of the two boys who made high school worthwhile. 

“I’m... It’s nice to meet you again, Jeno.” 

Jeno smiled again, his eyes disappearing into thin moons at the action. 

“It’s nice to see you again too, hyung. I missed you.” 

Mark didn’t want to lie so he said the truth.

“I did too. I wanted to call you but I..I was stupid… But it’s all in the past… I’m just really glad you reached out.” 

Jeno nodded, the hint of a smile still on his lips. 

“Of course I did, hyung. There’s a reason why I didn’t until now. Now I can.” 

Mark’s eyes widened as he comprehended the meaning of that.

“I don’t… I don’t understand… Did he ask you to not contact me?”

Jeno nodded. 

“He did. He said he wanted to see if you guys could still find each other without someone cluing in the other. It was a dangerous game of luck but I think the universe did its job pretty well from the number of times he sent me sketches of you in some part of the world.” 

Mark gaped but chose not to reply because he was sure that Jeno had answers. A lot of them. 

“His final project at uni was this painting.”

Jeno said after a small silent moment as he extended his phone to Mark causing him to stifle his gasp with a hand in front of his mouth. It was him holding a camera in front of his eyes, his messenger bag hanging from his shoulders, a portion of his smile visible in the part of his face not hidden by his Nikon, fingers and the crinkles around his eyes incredibly detailed, the dogwood flowers covering the upper part of the canvas, streaks of blue sky visible through the gaps in the brown branches with the white blossoms and his green hoodie crinkled slightly in the front, his scuffed blue sneakers and faded grey jeans drawn lifelike. Mark closed his eyes as he registered that when he was busy taking _his_ pictures, _he_ was busy painting mental sketches that _he_ replicated later in _his_ sketchpads and canvases. 

“Is this from... Damn.. Is this?” 

Jeno smiled calmingly.

“Yeah. This is the counterpart to your senior year’s project where you submitted his photograph. He didn’t know though, until his art teacher told him that she had seen a photograph which looked like his project’s other side in the photography department of Seoul National. It’s incredible how in tune you guys are.” 

Mark choked on a sob but held it in, preparing for everything Jeno was about to tell him.

“He feels bad for making you wait for so long, hyung. He really does but he felt like he didn’t have a choice.” 

“I know.” Mark replied, he was always sad, never angry with _him_. 

“Do you really? He kissed me once, his first kiss with a boy during that long hiatus where he was finding himself for you. Do you know what he said after that?” Mark shook his head no, trying to not focus on how _his_ first kiss was given to someone else. “He told me that he wanted it to be you but that he didn’t know whether you wanted him as badly as he did. That he was scared that he was too broken for you. That he wanted you to have him after he fixed himself. That you deserved only the best.” 

Mark would have screamed in frustration at the words that tumbled out of Jeno’s mouth but he stopped himself, forcing himself to stay patient. After all, he had practised remarkable restraint until now. What difference did a few more minutes make?

“That night he told me that he knew you were the one. God, hyung, he was so sad one moment and then he told me that he was so damn sure and he thanked me even if I did nothing to help him arrive at that conclusion. He was so happy then and he told me that he would keep travelling to find himself and that he hoped that he found you in all those places too. He hoped that he met you, hyung. Every single time he boarded a new plane or a train he told me he wanted to see you there. He told me he was sure that you would wait for him.” 

Mark’s face had rivulets of salt running down and he tried to wipe them away but they kept coming. He finally decided on letting nature run its course. 

“I did. I waited. I am still waiting. But I don’t know why he considers himself broken... I don’t know if he’ll ever tell me..” 

Jeno took a deep breath. 

“He grew up in foster care. His mom died giving birth to him. His dad was a very good man but he died in a building accident when Hyuck was seven. He was shifted to foster care until he was adopted by a rich family when he was nine. Everything was fine until they died in a car crash. A child could never deal with two pairs of parents dying, hyung. I met him when he was ten after he was moved to an orphanage near our home. His second parents had always wanted him to become a doctor. Things got hard when he realized that he wanted to do art. That’s why he didn’t keep in touch with you after you left for uni. He had a lot of guilt because you leaving made him realize that he wanted to do art. He felt like he was betraying his parents’ memory by not following what they wanted him to. My parents tried to convince that it was fine but once in a while the guilt got too much for him. That’s why he started travelling. He has sold so many paintings, hyung. So many… but he never signs his name in any of them. He only signs in his paintings of you because he thinks that art was a pleasure he received by defying four people who were buried six feet deep and that he didn’t want recognition for it.” 

Mark took in the information and his voice cracked as he asked the next question. 

“Why my paintings?”

Jeno took a sip of the coffee. 

“Because he said you didn’t belong to anyone else. He said you belonged to him.”

He let that statement ring in the chambers of his heart for a while, letting it kindle the kind of magic that only _he_ could ever ignite. 

“Where is he? I met him last in Australia.” 

Jeno smiled then, slight mischief tinting it and Mark knew that he had learnt it from _him_. 

“He is home. He came back yesterday night. He said he was done with travelling. Said all he needed to do was meet you and not run away again. He is probably sleeping in his apartment now. Jetlag, you know?”

Mark tilted his head as his thoughts slowed down at the implications of that. 

“Why..Why did you tell me this?”

Jeno snorted. 

“He has been making you run around for so long and being a menacing and unpredictable idiot. It is only fair that you find him and hold him down to make him realize that he doesn’t control everything.” Jeno paused, smiling again before he continued, “Also because he deserves to be happy with you and you finding him will make him the happiest.” 

An address was slid across the table and Mark felt like someone was giving him a golden ticket to paradise. In a way _he_ was Mark’s paradise. Jeno raised an eyebrow as if asking what he was waiting for before putting a key on the table.

“Go, hyung. Go get him.”

Mark doesn’t think that he has ever driven so fast in the thick and thronging streets of Seoul and it being a Sunday didn’t help him. But when he finally parked in front of the apartment complex in the paper, a kind of relief washed over him. He rushed up the stairs, foregoing the elevator and when he put the key in the door of apartment number 217, a feeling of warmth settled in the deepest crevices of his bones. He opened the door quietly and closed it, trying his best to not wake up his red-haired sleeping dream. 

There was a clutter of colours and paints and carbon pencils in the hall. There were several canvases held up on stands and the walls were all hand painted, different shades blending in swirls, lines and zigzags to create the perfect home for a travelling artist. There was an order to the disorder and Mark noticed that the couch area was very clean, the only place untouched by art except for the sketchpad and the few colour pencils next to it as if _he_ was drawing something the day before. Mark picked up the brown pad and flicked through it, blood rushing in his ears and heart beating too loud at seeing his face reflecting back at him in many pages, some of him holding a camera or hugging _him_. Some of him standing next to Johnny and Yuta and some of him looking out a window or randomly standing. Mark lifted his head to notice that there were similar sketchpads on the table next to the canvas and every single brown covered pad he took up opened to reveal him and him alone. 

Mark put the books down, a smile on his face even as his eyes threatened to spill over, silently chiding himself for never realizing how much _he_ loved him. He had known _he_ loved him but not this much. Never in his wildest dreams had he fathomed the galaxy of love _he_ carried in _his_ fist-sized heart. He was fine with being the one who always loved a little more and the tears finally spilled all over again as he realized that the other boy probably thought the same. 

He pushed the door which was ajar and saw a lost star who had finally decided to give himself to his human. Donghyuck’s red hair was spread out in a halo on the white pillow, the dye slightly tinting the material a light pink in some areas probably because he slept with wet hair, Mark concluded. The blinds were drawn but the yellow light from the lamp was everything Mark wanted to appreciate his sun, whose skin glowed in the lamp’s luminescence, long eyelashes framing his eyes and fluttering slightly. Mark’s hands itched for his camera but he told himself that _he_ was here to stay and that there would be more opportunities to do that for the rest of his life, where he wouldn’t have to wait around for an unknown period of time for _him_ to stumble in.

Mark stepped forward, his hands finally gaining the courage to touch _his_ hair and smooth it out. _He_ groaned and opened _his_ eyes, blinking up at him for a moment that lasted too long before _he_ smiled, a thousand colours Mark had seen and never seen radiating from that single curve. 

“You found me.” 

Donghyuck whispered. 

“I did.”

 Mark said.

“Do you mind if I stay?” 

 _He_ asked, hesitant. 

“No...but I want you to stay forever.” 

Mark replied. 

“I think I can do that.” 

Donghyuck smiled again. 

“I love you.” 

Mark said after a pause, their first confession. 

“I love you too, Mark Lee.” 

Donghyuck replied, grinning and glowing and when _he_ pulled Mark down to the bed, he swore that _he_ was magic. 

His magic.

Mark and Donghyuck had looked for colours all their lives and they had found them in each other’s arms. One had run too much and too far but the other had followed that much and that far. But for Mark this boy was worth it. _He_ was worth everything. _He_ was hilarious. _He_ was infuriating. _He_ was the epitome of sarcasm. _He_ sassed a lot and talked way too much. _He_ drove you crazy and made you yell. _He_ laughed way too loud and _he_ clung too much. _He_ walked too close and hugged too tight. _He_ looked at you all the time and _he_ smiled too bright. _He_ cried too silently and even with fat tears rolling down _his_ cheeks, _he_ was way too beautiful. _He_ filled his sketchpads with Mark and Mark filled his memory cards with _him_. But _he_ was everything. _Everything_ Mark had _ever_ wanted and now that he had _him_ in the palm of his hands, he didn't plan on letting _him_ run away any time soon.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I love you for reading.. Hit me up on my [cc](https://curiouscat.me/Crimsun) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/_Crimsun_)


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